When Bob came to earth he found himself clumping down the river road miles from town. He turned and walked back to Bear Cat. His cowpony was at the corral and he was due at the ranch by night.

Young Dillon's thoughts had been so full of June and his relation to her that it was with a shock of surprise he saw Jake Houck swing out from the hotel porch and bar the way.

"Here's where you 'n' me have a settlement," the Brown's Park man announced.

"I'm not lookin' for trouble," Bob said, and again he was aware of a heavy sinking at the stomach.

"You never are," jeered Houck. "But it's right here waitin' for you, Mr.

Rabbit Heart."

Bob heard the voices of children coming down the road on their way from school. He knew that two or three loungers were watching him and Houck from the doors of adjacent buildings. He was aware of a shouting and commotion farther up the street. But these details reached him only through some subconscious sense of absorption. His whole attention was concentrated on the man in front of him who was lashing himself into a fighting rage.

What did Houck mean to do? Would he throw down on him and kill? Or would he attack with his bare hands? Fury and hatred boiled into the big man's face. His day had come. He would have his revenge no matter what it cost.

Bob could guess what hours of seething rage had filled Houck's world. The freckle-faced camp flunkey had interfered with his plans, snatched from him the bride he had chosen, brought upon him a humiliation that must be gall to his proud spirit whenever he thought of Bear Cat's primitive justice. He would pay his debt in full.

The disturbance up the street localized itself. A woman picked up her skirts and flew wildly into a store. A man went over the park fence almost as though he had been shot out of a catapult. Came the crack of a revolver. Some one shouted explanation. "Mad dog!"

A brindle bull terrier swung round the corner and plunged forward. With bristling hair and foaming mouth, it was a creature of horrible menace.

Houck leaped for the door of the hotel. Bob was at his heels, in a panic to reach safety.

A child's scream rang out. Dillon turned. The school children were in wild flight, but one fair-haired little girl stood as though paralyzed in the middle of the road. She could not move out of the path of the wild beast bearing down upon her.

Instinctively Bob's mind functioned. The day was warm and his coat hung over an arm. He stepped into the road as the brindle bull came opposite the hotel. The coat was swung out expertly and dropped over the animal's head. The cowpuncher slipped to his knees, arms tightening and fingers feeling for the throat of the writhing brute struggling blindly.

Its snapping jaws just missed his hand. Man and dog rolled over into the dust together. Its hot breath fanned Bob's face. Again he was astride of the dog. His fingers had found its throat at last. They tightened, in spite of its horrible muscular contortions to get free.

There came a swish of skirts, the soft pad of running feet. A girl's voice asked, "What shall I do?"

It did not at that moment seem strange to Dillon that June was beside him, her face quick with tremulous anxiety. He spoke curtly, as one who gives orders, panting under the strain of the effort to hold the dog.

"My gun."

She picked the forty-five up from where it had fallen. Their eyes met.

The girl did swiftly what had to be done. It was not until she was alone in her room half an hour later that the thought of it made her sick.

Bob rose, breathing deep. For an instant their eyes held fast. She handed him the smoking revolver. Neither of them spoke.

From every door, so it seemed, people poured and converged toward them.

Excited voices took up the tale, disputed, explained, offered excuses.

Everybody talked except June and Bob.

Blister rolled into the picture. "Dawg-gone my hide if I ever see anything to b-beat that. He was q-quick as c-chain lightnin', the boy was. Johnny on the spot. Jumped the critter s-slick as a whistle." His fat hand slapped Bob's shoulder. "The boy was sure there with both hands and feet."

"What about June?" demanded Mollie. "Seems to me she wasn't more'n a mile away while you men-folks were skedaddlin' for cover."

The fat man's body shook with laughter. "The boys didn't s-stop to make any farewell speeches, tha's a fact. I traveled some my own self, but I hadn't hardly got started before Houck was outa sight, an' him claimin'

he was lookin' for trouble too."

"Not that kind of trouble," grinned Mike the bartender. He could afford to laugh, for since he had been busy inside he had not been one of the vanishing heroes. "Don't blame him a mite either. If it comes to that I'm givin' the right of way to a mad dog every time."

"Hmp!" snorted Mollie. "What would 'a' happened to little Maggie Wiggins if Dillon here had felt that way?"

Bob touched Blister on the arm and whispered in his ear. "Get me to the doc. I gotta have a bite cauterized."

It was hardly more than a scratch, but while the doctor was making his preparations the puncher went pale as service-berry blossoms. He sat down, grown suddenly faint. The bite of a mad dog held sinister possibilities.

Blister fussed around cheerfully until the doctor had finished. "Every silver l-lining has got its cloud, don't you r-reckon? Here's Jake Houck now, all s-set for a massacree. He's a wolf, an' it's his night to howl.

Don't care who knows it, by gum. Hands still red from one killin'. A rip-snortin' he-wolf from the bad lands! Along comes Mr. Mad Dog, an'

Jake he hunts his hole with his tail hangin'. Kinda takes the tuck outa him. Bear Cat wouldn't hardly stand for him gunnin' you now, Bob. Not after you tacklin' that crazy bull terrier to save the kids. He'll have to postpone that settlement he was promisin' you so big."

The puncher voiced the fear in his mind. "Do folks always go mad when they're bit by a mad dog, doctor?"

"Not a chance hardly," Dr. Tuckerman reassured. "First place, the dog probably wasn't mad. Second place, 't wa'n't but a scratch and we got at it right away. No, sir. You don't need to worry a-tall."

Outside the doctor's office Blister and Bob met Houck. The Brown's Park man scowled at the puncher. "I'm not through with you. Don't you think it! Jus' because you had a lucky fluke escape--"

"Tacklin' a crazy wild beast whilst you an' me were holin' up," Blister interjected.

Houck looked at the fat man bleakly. "You in this, Mr. Meddler? If you're not declarin' yoreself in, I'd advise you to keep out."

Blister Haines laughed amiably with intent to conciliate. "What's the use of nursin' a grudge against the boy, Houck? He never did you any harm.

S-shake hands an' call it off."

"You manage yore business if you've got any. I'll run mine," retorted Houck. To Bob he said meaningly as he turned away, "One o' these days, young fellow."

The threat chilled Dillon, but it was impossible just now to remain depressed. He rode back to the ranch in a glow of pleasure. Thoughts of June filled every crevice of his mind. They had shared an adventure together, had been partners in a moment of peril. She could not wholly despise him now. He was willing to admit that Houck had been right when he called it a fluke. The chance might not have come to him, or he might not have taken it. The scream of little Maggie Wiggins had saved the day for him. If he had had time to think--but fortunately impulse had swept him into action before he could let discretion stop him.

He lived over again joyfully that happy moment when June had stood before him pulsing with life, eager, fear-filled, tremulous. He had taken the upper hand and she had accepted his leadership. The thing his eyes had told her to do she had done. He would remember that--he would remember it always.

Nor did it dim his joy that he felt himself to be a fraud. It had taken no pluck to do what he did, since he had only obeyed a swift dominating mental reaction to the situation. The real courage had been hers.

He knew now that he would have to take her with him in his thoughts on many a long ride whether he wanted to or not.

CHAPTER XXVIII

JUNE IS GLAD

June turned away from the crowd surrounding the dead mad dog and walked into the hotel. The eyes of more than one man followed the slim, graceful figure admiringly. Much water had run down the Rio Blanco since the days when she had been the Cinderella of Piceance Creek. The dress she wore was simple, but through it a vivid personality found expression. No longer was she a fiery little rebel struggling passionately against a sense of inferiority. She had come down from the hills to a country filled with laughter and the ripple of brooks.

The desire to be alone was strong upon her--alone with the happy thoughts that pushed themselves turbulently through her mind. She was tremulous with excitement. For she hoped that she had found a dear friend who had been lost.

Once, on that dreadful day she would never forget, June had told Jake Houck that Bob Dillon was as brave as he. It had been the forlorn cry of a heart close to despair. But the words were true. She hugged that knowledge to her bosom. Jake had run away while Bob had stayed to face the mad dog. And not Jake alone! Blister Haines had run, with others of tested courage. Bob had outgamed him. He admitted it cheerfully.